Two Forty-Seven, July 18, 2011

I woke up Sunday morning, didn't smell too good.
Smelled no better Monday, don't know why I would.
I didn't take a shower, but I did a little work.
I work for myself, and my boss is a jerk.
I work for myself, and my boss is a jerk.

I don't mind Monday, it's the same as every day
Except the newspaper's skinny, and I get a little more mail.
But it isn't the bad news that's been losing weight,
And since your letters quit, it's all bills to be paid.
Since you quit writing to me, it's only bills to be paid.

The dishes in the sink ain't gonna do themselves.
If wishes were washers, I'd have dishwashing wealth.
The only thing that happens on its own is getting old.
I do my own cooking, and the food's always cold.
I do my own cooking, and the food's always cold.

I told you two o'clock, I wish I would've said one.
I'm at the piano, waiting for you to come.
The last time you were on time, time stepped on its own toe.
Now I hear your knuckles knocking at my door.
Now I hear your knuckles knocking at my door.